Rock Bottom
by BlackFalcon002
Summary: This isn't the way I planned a reunion." Post-NRFTW


"This isn't the way I planned a reunion."

It had been a year and a half since Dean had had his soul ripped from his body and dragged into Hell, and Sam had nearly broken completely. No one could help him, and he didn't want anyone to, anyways. He was used to traveling with one person and one person only, and now that that one person was gone….well, there was really no point in talking to anyone else.

Bela was already dead. He'd shot her (and in public, too) when she'd made an attempt to talk to him. People had screamed and run as her body fell, blue light crackling over her skin, and an hour later he was a state away, the Impala roaring around him in her customary fashion.

Ah, yes, the Impala. He'd nearly left it with Bobby, then imagined Dean's reaction if he knew his baby was in a junkyard. Then he thought of letting Ellen or Jo keep an eye on it, but consider how both women felt towards Dean, not to mention him, he might as well drive it off a cliff himself. No, he'd definitely be better off taking care of the car himself, like Dean had taught him to.

But that was just it, wasn't it. That car, that beautiful '67 Chevy, reminded him too much of his departed sibling. For weeks after Dean's death, he had been stranded in one place (a coastal town called Cambria) because he couldn't get near the car without feeling sick. Even now, he couldn't stand listening to Metallica or AC/DC, especially in the car. It seemed to be the only thing capable of conjuring feeling within him anymore. That, and the vague, irrepressible feeling that he was going to save his brother from the literal Hell that Sam himself had put him into. More than anything, Sam wanted to see his brother. More than his own survival.

But not like this.

Anything but this.

It wasn't really the physical pain, although that was very pleasant, he had to admit, as he felt his body smash into rough stone. He could deal with the physical. It had been a major part of his life ever since he could remember.

It was seeing Dean again, after so long (only a year and a half, but it felt like longer than that), not a scratch on him, absolutely nothing changed… except his eyes. Above the same scruffy features and cocky grin, Dean's eyes were black, so dark they made the nighttime darkness around them lack its usual intensity, and seemed to expulse a wave of hatred so strong that Sam could feel it permeating the air. Or maybe it was just his brother's newly established demonic presence. Whatever.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said conversationally, like it was two years ago and it had only been ten minutes since they had last seen each other. "What's up?" He walked towards Sam as his brother tried to break the force pressing him against the wall.

"Hi, Dean." Sam replied, but he was not a demon. He couldn't disguise what he felt quite as well as Dean could, and Dean picked up on it immediately.

"Oh, such an emotional return- the great Dean Winchester, back in the world of the living. And since you always _were _the emotional one, here," Dean's hand snaked around Sam's neck, nails digging into the skin as he cooed, "Gimme a hug?"

The younger Winchester felt a grin of his own as he said, past the constricting hold, "Never big on those chick-flick moments, were you, Dean?"

Dean surveyed him for a second, scrutinizing his features carefully, then laughed, his hand withdrawing. "No. You're right. I'm not." He gave his brother a conspiratorial wink. "Besides, that would be way too easy."

Trying to ignore the implications of that little statement, Sam eyed Dean. "So, what brings you here, anyways."

Dean shrugged. "Just some unfinished business that I wanted to take care of once and for all." His glittering black eyes met Sam's green ones and he smirked, "That's why I'm here, I suppose."

"What kind of business are we talking about here, Dean?" Sa, questioned, not really sure if he wanted to know.

"You, Sammy."

Well, shit, he didn't want to know.

"I'm flattered Dean, really."

"Well, don't be so excited. I am here to kill you, after all," Dean said, the anger returning in his black eyes, "Flattery wasn't really my objective."

Sam grimaced. "Come on, Dean, you don't really mean that."

As soon as the words left his mouth, something cut into him, neatly slicing into his flesh right below his collarbone. He gasped, forcing any other noises of pain down.

"Actually, I think I do." Dean replied, amusement evident in his voice.

The younger Winchester laughed, the sound carrying no trace of humor in it. This was definitely not the heartfelt reunion he'd been hoping for.

"Why, Dean? I'm trying to help you for-"

"_When?_ When did you ever try to help me? I was down there for an eternity before getting out, and you say you were trying to help me?" Dean's own laugh carried as much amusement as his brother's had. "You've never helped me once in your life. And you know it. I can see it in your face. Your eyes. I can hear it in your voice." His eyes glinted maliciously. I guess you figured that things were better off without me, after all."

Despite his attempts to disguise any emotions from his brother, Sam couldn't hold back any longer. "That's not true, Dean! I've been looking for something, _anything_ to bring you back-" This time, he couldn't suppress a cry of pain as blood spurted from the new wound in his side. Blood trickled from his mouth, his body convulsing automatically.

"Well, I'm back now," Dean said, acting as though he didn't even notice his own brother writhing in pain right in front of him. "Aren't you happy?"

In all truth, Sam couldn't decide whether of not seeing Dean was a relief or a horror. Demonic or not, his brother was still his brother, and seeing him anywhere but Hell was a comfort, only disturbed by the fact that he was going to die because of it.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Dean's fist collided with the side of his face, driving his words out of his mouth. Blood flew as Dean walloped him again, and Sam felt an odd, hazy sense of déjà vu from the time that the demon in the body of a man that he never knew hit him repeatedly in a deserted street before Dean managed to shoot it with the Colt. Somehow, he wasn't really expecting the same outcome.

"Aren't you overjoyed?" Dean asked again maliciously.

Sam fought to breathe around the blood bubbling in his throat, not bothering to say anything since it didn't seem like Dean wanted an answer anyways.

There was a sudden splash, a hissing noise and a scream from Dean that was more bestial than human. Sam looked up as Dean spun around, dripping wet and still smoking.

Jo stood there, blonde hair whipping in the cold wind, the empty bucket still held in her hands as she stared at Dean, a look of complete mortification on her face.

"S-Stop it, Dean." She said finally, letting the bucket hang by her side as she took a couple menacing steps towards him. She backed up quickly, however, as he took a few steps in her direction.

"Jo, Jo, Jo…" He said slowly, black gaze looking her up and down as she attempted to get away from him, ignoring Sam's yells for her to get out of there. "Don't be a bitch… although I guess that's asking for too much of you, isn't it?"

"Fuck you," she snapped, and he laughed.

"Oh, no thanks, honey. I know you cream for me and all, but I have absolutely no interest in you or anything you can offer that slaughter can't do for me just as nicely."

Her body flew back, hitting several tombstones before slamming into one nearly as tall as herself, the statue of an angel poise above like the worst pun ever.

"Get the fuck away from her, Dean!" Sam snarled. Not that he really cared about her all that much anyways, and it didn't matter to him all that much if she died. All she'd ever done was get in their way. What he couldn't bare was to see Dean murder innocent (semi-innocent, really) girl in cold blood. His emotional overload was already at maximum, and it couldn't take much more.

Dean, of course, ignored him completely, and leaned in towards Jo, speaking to her softly. Sam couldn't hear what it was he was saying, but by the expression on Jo's face, it most definitely wasn't something she wanted to hear.

"Shut up," she said quietly, but he paid as much attention to that as he had to Sam's previous statement, and she shook her head violently, screaming "SHUT UP!"

He laughed, backing away and strolling towards Sam easily, calling over his shoulder, " Aw, it's true and you know it" He looked at his younger brother with contempt. "Three months of being followed by her, and you didn't even know it?" Dean shook his head. "Pathetic."

"I thought I'd left her in Bridgton, Maine, in the middle of nowhere with no phone and a broken car." Sam said quietly, trying to suppress his boiling emotions. "Obviously, she caught up."

"Huh. Maybe she's a better tracker than we gave her credit for," Dean said with a grin. "Oh well. She wont be good for very long."

Even as he said it, Jo's yells of "Let me go, you son of a bitch!" lost their words, turning into long, drawn-out screams that seemed to have the ability to shatter glass. They stabbed into Sam, and he yelled at Dean, "Stop it!"

−_Stop it, this isn't you, Dean−_

Jo's body convulsed, and as Sam watched in horror, fire snaked up from the ground, ensnaring her legs in it's fiery grip. The scream rose both in octaves and volume as it crept up her body.

"Jo!" Sam yelled again, throwing himself against the forces holding him back.

"Jut wait your turn, Sammy," Dean said, never taking his black eyes off of Jo once.

The blonde hair was transformed into a blazing chorus of reds and golds and oranges, and Jo's final scream petered out, ending in a hideous gurgle as her body disintegrated, leaving behind a pile of ashes dancing in the breeze and the sweet smell of charred flesh that lingered, the wind refusing to carry it away.

Sam couldn't speak, only stare at the small grey pile that had been a petite blonde woman not five minutes ago. Horror rolled through him, along with dizzying waves of nausea that made his head spin crazily. Or maybe it was the smell. Maybe both.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said, right next to him, snapping the younger Winchester out of his daze. "You wont die like that. It wouldn't be fair now, would it?" He laughed in a way that was almost a giggle. "I mean, how much would it suck to die the same way your mom did? Or Jess, for that matter."

"Leave them out of it."

Dean regarded him carefully, the insane grin never leaving his face. "Ooh, still touchy about that? Poor baby, always has emotional attachments to everything-"

"You're wrong."

A pause followed, and the demon cocked his head to the side. "Come again?"

Sam stared at his brother, pure guilt and misery showing in his eyes. "I've suppressed my emotions, Dean. I haven't care for anyone, myself included, since you left-"

"Left?" Dean snorted. "I _died_, idiot, I never left."

"Of course you left, Dean. You cant come back if you never left-"

This time, the attack came as a surprise, as something gored into his stomach that felt deep enough to have nicked his spine, and he cried out. Dean didn't relent, however, driving whatever-it-was deeper into his brother's body.

"Oh I died, alright," Dean said, his voice so dangerously calm it felt to Sam's pain-glazed mind like he was next to a sleeping Hellhound. "There's no place like Hell for the living. It wouldn't be right." His black eyes blazed with an intense fury so bright that it seemed like maybe a little bit of Hell_ was_ in the world. Dean's hand snaked around Sam's head, forcing him to look up as his fingers entwined in the long hair, yanking it up so they were looking eye to eye. "I died, and you didn't do a damn thing about it, so you're just trying to make yourself feel better by saying 'He just left and he'll come back." He smirked. "Cute, Sam, very cute. A very nice way to shift the hatred on this one."

"I put it on myself," Sam said, trying futilely to pull himself out of his brother's grip. "I never…tried to change the blame on this one, Dean. I never tried to make myself feel better." He looked at Dean, a slight kicked-puppy expression making its way back onto his face around the blood. "Come on, Dean, you know me better than to say that. You know I'd never forgive myself."

Dean's brow furrowed and he regarded Sam with something like regret or sorrow in his eyes. Slowly, the black mist drained away, taking with them the pressure on Sam's body. The hand holding his head up slacked off. Sam didn't look away, his gaze captivated by the familiar green-gray gaze.

"I know, Sammy." Dean said gently. "And I'm sorry. I never wanted you to feel like….." He closed his. "I'm so sorry…" There was a silence and Sam said quietly, "Dean…"

Dean's head snapped up, grinning as his black eyes bored into Sam's green ones. "Boo, Kiddo!" he called, slamming Sam's body back against the stone. "How's it hangin? Ya miss me?"

Sam felt sudden, intense agony, and his own scream echoed through the deserted graveyard. Slowly, far too slowly, it petered off, and the outburst died away, leaving Sam gasping for breath, blood dripping liberally from his throat and down his hin and neck.

"What….what did you do to Dean?" he asked, voice clogged and raspy. A hand grabbed his chin, forcing his head up.

"I am Dean." The demon said with a feral, happy smile. "The new and improve-"

"My brother…" Sam whispered, "Where's my brother?"

−_Sammy?−_

"Standing right here, Sammy. And boy, am I tired of your talking. What do you say we just end this, here and now."

−_Sammy, you have to go−_

"Give me back my brother."

"All right, fine. Here."

Another cry of agony made the cemetery fill with noise, as blood spattered the ground, dripping from Dean's hand as he yanked it from Sam's preexisting wound.

−_I don't want to kill you−_

"Had enough of your brother for one night?"

−_Don't let me kill you−_

"Dean…" Sam breathed. "I'm so sorry…I should've tried harder…to save you…"

−_You did everything you could, Sammy, stop−_

Another scream rent the night.

"I don't need your apologies. I knew it was you that fucked up, not me."

−_This isn't your fault, Sam−_

"Save your sorry's for someone who _doesn't_ know…although, I guess everyone does, don't they. That's why Bobby and Ellen are ignoring you, because they know it's your fault. Everything bad happened because of you- Mom, Jess, even_ Dad's_ death, all because you were supposed to be so _fucking_ special. You killed people you didn't even _know_."

−_Don't listen to me Sam. This isn't me−_

"I know, Dean…" Sam said, the sound barely audible through the pain layered heavily upon it. His voice was choked, defeated and he shuddered, repeating, even quieter, "I know."

−_No, you _don't,_ Sam, think about it−_

Dean's hand found it's way to the injury on Sam's neck, and blood dribbled from it as he squeezed and tore it unmercifully. "What, no apology this time? What a shame."

Sam could only hiss in pain, ragged throat and blood not allowing for anything louder or more pronounced. His head was swaying, threatening to fall.

−_Stop hurting him!−_

Sam hissed again as Dean's hands went deeper, black eyes narrowed and a sadistic smile on his animalistic features. "See you around, Sammy."

−_Stop it!−_

"If you don't mind it being in Hell."

−_STOP IT!_

In one jerking motion, Dean ripped his hand downwards through Sam's body, tearing it open as easily as if the hunter had been made of paper. Blood was immediate and overwhelming, pouring out so thickly that it seemed he would bleed dry in only a few minutes. Sam's green eyes opened wide, his body quivering and jerking spasmodically from where it was being held.

−_SAMMY!−_

"Sammy." Dean said quietly, more of a question than a statement as he stood there, wet up to the elbows in blood now. His gaze flickered as he looked up at his baby brother, who was trying to look back with a gaze that was beginning to cloud over, dulling the once-bright eyes.

"D-Dea…ean…" Sam burbled, head tilting forward as he lost his strength, to let the torrent of blood stream unbroken, to the ground from his mouth. "H...Help."

Something broke, so deep within Dean that he wasn't sure what was happening until it was too late. He shuddered, head spinning crazily as those two words echoed inside his head, going around and around, deafening him, screaming the words through his mind though they had originally been less than a whisper.

"Sammy." he said again, more sure. He opened his eyes again, their normal blue turned silver by the moonlight. "Sam!" His mind had finally managed to break whatever hold had been upon him. He was free again.

Free to watch his brother die.

"SAM!"

Sam's body began to fall, the demonic pressure no longer keeping him where he was. Dean lunged forward, catching the limp frame in his arms, struggling to lower him to the ground, painfully aware of the blood on his hands, his jacket…..it was everywhere. His younger brother was shaking uncontrollably, his clouded eyes searching, moving wildly, unable to focus.

"Sam!" Dean called, and the hazy green stare dragged itself to his face. "Sammy, come on, you'll be alright." Oh, god, what was he saying? "Focus, Sam, look at me. Look at me!"

But Sam couldn't. And he wasn't sure he would if he could. He was tired…very, very tired. It all hurt so much, too much, but it was beginning to ebb away, to float away on the darkness that was slowly enveloping him, a silent embrace that held him gently in her dark arms. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, he blinked slowly, looking up one last time, but hew wasn't seeing anything. For some reason, he didn't really mind. Nit noticing the blood in his throat and mouth anymore, he smiled slightly, the expression left behind as the silence took him gently away.

Dean stared his brother, the half-lidded eyes and tiny, almost indiscernible smile on his brother's face too still, too perfectly held. He held Sam's head up desperately, patting him and shaking him. "Sam….Sam, c'mon, I cant do this again. SAM!"

There was nothing. He shook harder, holding him close, knowing he was babbling, not sure what he was saying but knowing he couldn't stop. What if there was a chance?

"Sam, c'mon. Dad would be pissed if he knew I let you go again."

But what chance was there?

"Please, Sam, think about what you'd be leaving behind."

He was just trying to fool himself.

"Sammy! Sam! C'mon, you've gotta open your eyes. Look at me, please. Sam!"

There was nothing he could do.

"Sam, you cant just leave me here. Maybe you could cope for a while, but I sure as hell cant."

Sam was gone.

"Look what happened last time, I totally fell apart, Sam. Come one. Sam! Sammy!"

And he wasn't coming back.

"No. No, no, no….Sam!"

Nothing.

Dean finally forced himself to shut up, eyes streaming with tears that seemed to have come from nowhere. His hands, dyed red and shivering uncontrollably, slowly pulled away from his brother's form, letting it settle against the blood soaked ground.

After everything he'd been forced to do, after everything he'd forced himself to do, was this really what it led up to? Was this going to be the great finale after everything he and his brother _(−oh, god, Sam−) _had been forced to endure?

"This cant be it," he muttered to himself, his head down, unable to take his gaze from Sam's too-pale face. Slowly, he leaned forward, gently wiping at the dark streaks of blood that slashed across his brother's face, trying to get them off with a sleeve that was just as, if not more, saturated. Slowly, Dean removed the jacket he was wearing, using the inside instead, carefully dabbing away the stains. Once they were all gone, Dean sat back, biting his lip.

"This cant be it. This is…..wrong." He looked at Sam again. "It's _wrong_." He buried his face in his hands, feeling the involuntary shudders wracking his body. "Especially because….it was…._me_."

He looked back at his brother with a warm smile, remembering what he'd told Dean back when it had been _him_ possessed. "I mean…it was me, but it wasn't me."

He could see Sam's expression even now, that pathetic puppy-dog expression that had gotten him almost anything when they were younger, looking at him as he asked, almost _begged_, to be killed. The memory lanced pain into Dean's heart.

"I couldn't do it then, Sammy." He murmured. "And I still…I still couldn't if….if you had…" His mind searched for the words, only grasping at air. Giving up, he scratched the back of his neck, grinding his teeth together.

"You always were better with words, Sammy. I kinda suck." He said dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He tried closing his eyes, but somehow, that was a lot worse. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about being in the dark, knowing that Sam wouldn't be there to help or back him up, was almost unbearable.

"You know something, Sam?" Dean said quietly, looking up at the star-studded night. "You're a lot stronger than I am. I mean, I could still kick your ass and stuff, but…" his gaze dropped back down to the younger Winchester's. "You could live a good life or not, without my help. I…don't think I could do that. I…._can't_ do that."

Dragging himself up, he took a couple staggering steps in one direction, then the other, before regaining some of his composure and walking out of the cemetery's boundaries towards the black car hulking in the shadows.

"Hey, baby." He said to his Impala, one hand skimming lighting over the black exterior as he walked around to the back to pop it open, but he didn't need to- Sam had left it open for reasons known only to him.

Dean's eyes cast about, then landed on something he would never have expected to see. Carefully, he reached down, extracting the Colt from it's carefully designed rest.\

"But…" he said quietly, brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought that Bela…" Realization hit him, and he smiled sadly. "Attaboy, Sammy." He murmured quietly, closing the back of the car.

The walk back to the graveyard seemed, for some reason, a lot shorter than his walk away, and he was staring down at the bloody, lifeless shell of his baby brother before he really felt ready. Seeing Sam again _(−Jesus, did he look that bad before? Had there been so much _blood?_−)_ only intensified the pain, narrowing it down until it burned with an intensity more fierce than anything he'd ever felt before.

"I…..I, uh, found the Colt, Sammy." he told Sam quietly. "I don't know why you left the Impala open, but….I don't really mind." As he spoke, he checked the chamber of the Colt. Two bullets winked up at him happily. It was odd, though, holding this gun. It felt different from before, as if the Colt didn't want him to hold it.

"It's alright," he said to it quietly, "I wont be holding you for very long."

Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground next to his brother, wincing at the blood-soaked earth beneath him. Talking Sam's hand _(−cold, it's way too cold−),_ he wrapped it around the ancient gun. It rested in his brother's palm comfortably, and Dean smiled again, murmuring, "See? It likes you." He pulled his brother's arm gently, as if being any harder on it would break it, until the Colt's cold barrel rested under his chin. He let his head rest on Sam's shoulder, avoiding the bloody gashes as best he could. It was now or never- the smell was beginning to make him light-headed and nauseous. Looking only made it worse.

He stared up at the black sky. "No cheesy last lines." He promised. "But here." With one hand, he flipped God the bird, the other gripping Sam's hand.

One shot.

And then?

Nothing.


End file.
